Dean Hates Witches
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: A collection of fics for this year's hc-bingo, or five reasons why Dean hates witches. Each chapter is an separate story in the series. No spoilers except to the premise of the show.
1. Catching Fire

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Author's Note:** I'm collecting my first five fills for this year's hc-bingo here. The first five stories are part of a interconnected series, but later ones will be standalone and I'll post them independently.

This is for the prompt _Fire_.Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta and the posting suggestions. I was toying with the idea of posting the first bingo set all at once but I'd probably have caved and done them in bits if she hadn't backed me up on that.

 **Summary:** Burning a witch's altar should be an easy job, but sometimes it doesn't go as expected.

* * *

 **Catching Fire**

Every time Dean shuts his eyes, he can see the burning building. He can see the gouts of flame licking the roof, he can see the smoke pouring from the windows, and he can see Sam, Sam burning on the ceiling with blood pouring from his stomach and his face frozen in an endless scream.

Of course, that last part didn't happen, and rise and fall of Sam's chest under the blanket is proof of that.

Dean doesn't know the details. It was a straightforward plan. Dean would keep the Ada May distracted while Sam burnt the altar. It was Dean's kind of plan, because it meant the witch's focus would be on Dean, and Sam would have a relatively safe job he'd done a hundred times before.

But this witch was smart and prepared for hunters. Ada pulled her barstool right up next to Dean's, pressed herself against him so he could feel the hex bags in her pockets, and whispered the sequence of events into his ear.

If the altar went up in smoke, a spell would make the curtains catch fire as well. They were silk. They'd burn quickly. A couple of seconds later the floor would start to smoulder, and then the walls. There'd be no escape through the windows because of the burning curtains, no escape through the door because the room was big and the smoke would choke Sam before he got that far.

Dean pushed her away, dropped a fistful of bills on the bar counter and pushed every last bit of power out of his baby.

He was still too late.

But the fire brigade wasn't, and Dean can't be grateful enough to them.

He leans forward and looks at Sam anxiously. His brother was awake when Dean reached Ada's house. The paramedics had him on a stretcher with a mask strapped to his face, his eyes brimming with tears. They told Dean it was just smoke inhalation, and maybe pain and shock from a couple of minor burns.

They're in their motel room now. Sam fell asleep almost as soon as Dean lowered him to the bed. Poor kid was exhausted, and no wonder. He had a miserable day.

Dean lays a hand on Sam's chest. It takes a moment, but then he feels the steady thudding. He closes his eyes and leans forward, letting the familiar rhythm soothe him. It's been so long since Dean first heard it – he was a little boy, Mary was lying back on the couch, and the obstetrician was smiling at him as she held out the stethoscope and said, "Come listen to your little brother, Dean."

It's been twenty-three years, and the rhythm of Sam's heartbeat hasn't changed.

He reaches up to brush hair off Sam's face. It's black and heavy with soot. Dean should have washed it, but he didn't have the heart to make his brother get up and bend over the sink. They'll deal with it in the morning.

He needs to move now. He needs to go down to the pharmacy and get some burn cream and painkillers and restock the gauze bandages. But he can't bring himself to leave Sammy.

And he doesn't have to. Not right away. Their first aid kit has enough supplies to last another day or so. Dean can go restock in the morning, or better yet in the afternoon, when Sam's woken up and Dean's seen him eat and heard him laugh and had his heart twisted in knots by big soulful puppy-dog eyes.

When Dean knows Sam's OK, then he'll go. For now, he's content to sit and watch Sam sleep.

THE END

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	2. Silence

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Author's Note:** This is for the prompt _Loss of Hearing_ on my card for this year's hc-bingo.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta.

 **Summary:** A witch's revenge is in the form of a curse that takes Sam's hearing.

* * *

 **Silence**

"Shhh," Dean soothes, although he knows Sam can't hear him. Sam's curled in his arms, shivers wracking his body.

The poor kid's terrified, and no wonder.

Dean knows Ada May is responsible. She's mad because they burnt her altar. Dean should've killed her right away, but he'd been too focused on getting to Sam.

That's a mistake he won't make if he sees her again.

Hunting her down is for later, though.

He called Bobby, who did some research and called back to tell him there's nothing they can do but wait it out. Sam did a bit of research of his own to confirm it, and he was actually handling it pretty well for a while.

They carried on very much as normal, other than the fact that Sam refused to talk. Which, now that Dean thinks about it, is the exact opposite of normal. But it had its perks. Dean had fun ordering Sam the biggest, greasiest burgers he could find, until he got the full force of the puppy-dog eyes and promptly went and bought Sam a salad.

It was fine, until Sam, crossing the street outside their motel ten minutes ago, almost got run over by a car because he didn't hear it honking. The driver swerved, and Sam just got grazed. He got out and started yelling at Sam, until he realized Sam couldn't hear. Then he apologized, picked Sam up, and handed him over to Dean, who went running out of the motel with his heart in his throat.

Fortunately, the bandages did their job and protected Sam's still-healing burns. He's not hurt beyond a couple of bruises and a scraped elbow, but he's in shock. It's not because of the accident – Sam's been hurt worse on hunts – but because he's suddenly realized just how vulnerable he is out in the world with no sense of hearing.

Sam's hands are the size of dinner plates, but Dean remembers a time when they were tiny. They grip his shirt just as tightly now as they did then.

"Sammy," Dean says. Sam can't hear him, but the word sounds comforting on his tongue, and Sam will feel the rumbling of his voice where his cheek is smushed into Dean's shirt. "Sammy, kiddo, it's going to be OK. Just another day or two, and you'll be back to normal."

"What if it never comes back?" Sam whispers.

"Sam." Dean disentangles Sam's hands from his shirt and pushes him away. Sam resists, but Dean keeps up the gentle pressure until Sam looks him in the eye. "We'll get through this."

Sam looks puzzled, because of course he can't lip-read. He's been deaf for less than forty-eight hours.

So Dean takes Sam's hand, brings it to his chest, and closes his fingers around the amulet.

It's a promise in the only way he can give it right now, a promise that he'll be there, a promise that Sam's going to be all right, a promise that no matter what happens, Dean Winchester will always protect his baby brother.

THE END

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	3. Unseen

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Author's Note:** This is for the prompt _Invisibility_ on my card for this year's hc-bingo.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta.

 **Summary:** Dean can't see Sam, so he has to find other ways to make sure his brother's there.

* * *

 **Unseen**

Dean's hand is on the head resting on his knee, fingers stroking gently through Sam's soft hair.

If anybody looks through the window they're going to think he's psychotic, sitting in the big armchair looking like he's petting an imaginary dog.

It figures, he thinks sourly, that a witch as twisted and evil as Ada May wouldn't be content with just _one_ revenge-spell.

Her first one took Sam's hearing, and wasn't _that_ a bitch. When it wore off, Sam's relief, and Dean's, lasted for exactly thirty minutes. Then Sam started to go translucent. Dean panicked, calming only slightly when he realized that, other than turning invisible, the spell wasn't doing his brother any damage.

"This'll probably wear off, too," he offers. "The last one just lasted forty-eight hours."

"Yeah, and who's to say there won't be _another_ spell after that?" Sam asks disconsolately.

As if his miserable tone tying Dean's inside in knots weren't bad enough, it's distinctly unnerving to hear Sam's voice coming from thin air. Dean rubs Sam's head a little harder, just to reassure himself that his brother's present.

"Ow," Sam mutters, shifting away.

Dean reaches out to grab his arm, but his fingers close around empty air. Desperate fear starts to rise in his throat.

"Sam, where are you?"

"Right here." An invisible hand pats Dean's knee. Dean grabs it, feels along it until he reaches Sam's shoulder, and then tugs his brother up to what he thinks is eye-level. He feels a little ridiculous looking intently into nothing, but he needs to make sure Sam gets the message. "Don't _do_ that," he says, taking Sam's other shoulder and giving him a little shake for emphasis. "I need to know where you are."

"I'm OK."

"I'm not, and I'm not going to be OK until I can see you again. So humour me." Sam pulls away, but before Dean can panic he feels his brother's head on his knee again. He lets out a breath. "You know, if you _stay_ invisible, you'll be able to take out bad guys and they won't even see you coming. _And_ you won't be able to bitchface at me when I eat burgers."

Dean's pretty sure Sam's bitchfacing now, and he feels a pang that he can't see it.

"How about if I drive?" Sam asks. "That'll help when we need to make people believe in ghosts."

"It'll also help if we want to get pulled over by bored traffic cops with time to kill. Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd your clothes go invisible, too? It can't be that the spell acts on anything you touch, because I'm fine."

"I think it acts on things I wear," says Sam. "Hey, what happened to Ada May?"

"I don't know. Her place is gutted. Probably staying at a hotel or with some kind neighbour who took pity on her and didn't realize she's a genuine, large-as-life witch. Why?"

"I don't think we're done with her yet. What if this _isn't_ a residual spell from when I burnt her altar? What if she's casting it _now_?"

"Checked the room for hex bags after you went invisible. There's nothing… But you're right. I don't think we're done with her. She didn't seem like the type to go down without a fight." Dean's hand goes back to Sam's head, in a soothing motion he knows from experience will calm the kid down. "We'll worry about it later," he says. "Right now we're just worrying about _you_."

Sam mumbles something incomprehensible. Dean wanted to calm him down, but it sounds like he's soon going to be out for the count.

"Hey," Dean says, "Get to bed if you're going to fall asleep. I can't move your Sasquatch ass when you're invisible. You think the bedclothes will disappear if you're under the covers?"

"Very funny," Sam mutters, but he gets up.

The blanket _doesn't_ disappear. It moulds itself around a Sam-sized shape in a way that's at once creepy and reassuring.

Dean draws the curtains and hits the lights. In the darkness, with only the sound of Sam's even breathing in the room, it feels like everything is normal.

THE END

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	4. No Cure for the Common Cold

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Author's Note:** This is for the prompt _Minor Illness or Injury_ on my card for this year's hc-bingo.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta.

 **Summary:** A run-down Sam falls victim to a normal illness.

* * *

 **No Cure for the Common Cold**

"Look at it this way," Dean says. "At least you know there's nothing supernatural about this."

"Yeah," Sam mumbles, trying to glare at him and looking like a pouting toddler. "That's really nice to know."

Except that, with his cold, it ends up sounding like _Dat's weally dice to dow_ and Dean bursts out laughing. It only makes Sam glare harder, which makes him look _more_ like a baby who's just been fed a lemon, which makes Dean laugh even more, and, yeah vicious cycle. Really _awesome_ vicious cycle.

"Sorry," Dean gasps, when at last he has himself under a semblance of control. If Sam's continuing bitchface is anything to go by, he doesn't sound sorry at all. "It's just, you have no idea what a _relief_ this is. A cold is something we can _deal_ with. A cold is something _I_ can deal with. As long as I can see you and talk to you, we can deal with anything."

Sam's face softens.

"Here," Dean says, thrusting a spoonful of cough syrup into his mouth before he can start a chick-flick moment.

Sam grimaces as he swallows it. "Gross."

"Tough. It's good for you."

He starts tucking the blankets tighter around Sam. Sam's already wrapped up snug, because Dean's had plenty of experience dealing with a sick and shivering little brother and he knows the most important thing is to make sure a cold doesn't turn into something worse. For all that Sam tries to eat healthy and exercise, the hunting lifestyle is terrible for your immune system.

"You good?" he asks when he's done.

Sam gazes pathetically up at him. Dean laughs again. If it were serious, Sam would be in denial, telling Dean about how he's _fine_ and _of course I'm ready to hunt, Dean_ and _oh, come on, it's just a tiny bit of blood_. Having him all clingy and opening his mouth for the thermometer means he's not seriously ill.

He is, however, clearly angling for some fussing-over, and he's had a rough enough week that Dean decides to give it to him.

"I'll make you some of that herbal tea you claim is full of antioxidants, or Vitamin C, or whatever it is," Dean says. "Drink it, and then if you're awake enough I'll read to you."

Sam brightens at once. By the time Dean's finished steeping the tea he's sitting up in bed and holding out his hands for the cup. He drinks it so quickly Dean's compelled to tell him to slow down before he burns his tongue. Dean's not going anywhere.

"Good boy," Dean says when Sam's done. Sam beams, and Dean wishes it were always this easy to make Sam happy. "I've got a surprise for you. Shut your eyes."

Sam obeys. Dean quickly riffles through his duffel for the hardcover, full-colour copy of _Winnie-the-Pooh_ that he picked up at a used book sale in the last town they passed through. He puts it in Sam's hands.

"Open your eyes."

Sam does, and his smile turns about a hundred times brighter when he sees the book. He makes a little squeaky sound that Dean would find hilarious if he weren't too busy feeling like Superman for putting that look on Sam's face.

"Scoot over," Dean says.

Sam scoots. As soon as Dean's made himself comfortable on the bed, Sam's back, settling into the crook of Dean's arm. Dean can't find it in himself to object.

" _Here is Edward Bear_ ," he begins, " _coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump._ "

By the time he gets to the bees and the honey Sam's asleep. But that's OK. Dean'll read him the rest of the book later.

THE END

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	5. Unbroken

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Author's Note:** This is for the prompt _Whipping/Flogging_ on my card for this year's hc-bingo.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta.

 **Summary:** The aftermath of a witch forcing Dean to watch his brother being hurt.

 **Warning:** A bit of blood and violence.

* * *

 **Unbroken**

"It's OK," Dean soothes, although it's not OK. It's not OK at _all_. "It's OK, Sammy. It's over. I've got you."

Sam makes a tiny, hurt sound that twists Dean's insides.

When Dean shuts his eyes he can still hear Sam's choked-off sobs, hear the crack of the whip, see the blood dripping down his brother's back. It was Ada May's way of getting even with the hunters who burnt her altar and ruined her happy life of witchcraft and evil. She grabbed Sam off the street and did her damnedest to make him scream while Dean watched.

It was all Dean could do not to beg Ada May to stop, to hurt him if she had to hurt someone, but he managed it because it was up to him to get them out of there in one piece.

He looked docile and cowed and worked quietly at the ropes tying his hands behind his back.

Ada May never knew what hit her.

"How is he?"

Dean looks up at the sound of the gruff voice. Bobby showed up just in time to take care of the body, so Dean could focus on taking care of Sam.

"He'll be OK." Sam's hiding his face in Dean's shoulder, and there's a damp patch on his shirt, but Sam's in his arms and the witch is dead. That's all they need for now. "Just give him a few minutes to calm down."

"You want me to bring the first aid kit, or you want to take him back to the motel?"

Dean hesitates. He wants to avoid scarring if at all possible, because he doesn't want Sam to have reminders of this, but he also doesn't want to keep Sam in this room longer than he has to.

"We'll take him back," Dean decides. "But we should ditch his shirt, it'll just make him uncomfortable. Can you bring me the spare blanket from the Impala?"

The blanket does seem easier on Sam. He refuses to go in the back seat, instead managing to curl up against Dean in the front. It's hard to drive with Sam clinging to him like a limpet, and a young couple passing by gives them a weird look, but Dean doesn't care.

Bobby's the perfect assistant to have when it comes to patching Sam up, because he knows exactly when to tell Sam geeky stories to distract him from the sting of Dean cleaning his wounds, and when to step discreetly out of the way and let Dean comfort him when remembering what Ada May did to him becomes too much.

When he's done, Dean sits on Sam's bed, back to the headboard. He's really starting to hate this town.

Sam inches towards Dean with a barely-there sidle that means he's not entirely certain he won't get shoved away and lectured about chick-flick moments. Dean rolls his eyes, but he's still worried enough about his brother that he cups the back of Sam's head with one hand, gently encouraging him to shift closer.

Sam comes willingly.

"Dean?" he mumbles.

It's the first word he's said since Dean finally broke free and pulled Ada May off him.

"Yeah?" Dean asks.

"You're awesome."

Dean grins. Sam's praise means even more to him than Dad's did, and the only thing better than _You're awesome_ would be _You're Batman_.

"That's because I've got an _awesome_ baby brother," he says. "Go to sleep, kiddo. It's done, Ada May is dead and she can't hurt you anymore. It's over."

THE END

* * *

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


End file.
